


Coda: Men Who Talk

by Belle_Evans



Series: A to Z: In Sickness and Health [3]
Category: due South
Genre: M/M, Reference to previous major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle_Evans/pseuds/Belle_Evans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reconciliation might be in trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coda: Men Who Talk

**Author's Note:**

> When I first posted the A to Z series on the Benny and Ray list there were some comments that perhaps Benton had gotten off lightly for what he'd done. And some readers who fed back like Tyz really liked the OMC. So even though I thought I was done, the ideas started to come again and this is the result. Originally posted to the due South archive in 2005.
> 
> The Mountie suffers a lot in this one. There's wasn't really anything I could do about it. Since the other parts of this series were all told in Ray's POV this one is in Benny's and OMC Jersey's POVs. This could be considered an extension of the A to Z alternate ending.

Disclaimer: See beginning of series.

We are sitting outside on the patio of one of the neighborhood restaurants. Ray loves sit to outside. There is always an eclectic mix on Sunday mornings. Of course it leans heavilytoward same sex couples. Ray explained to me that in the year we were apart, he wouldcome here to soak up the sense of community, the sense of belonging. And I have witnessed that community in the Sunday mornings that I have been here. He wants to share that with me. This with me. He reads the sports section of the Los Angeles Times and drinks his coffee while I sip my herbal tea and watch him.  
  
What's left of his graying hair is shower damp as is mine. We made love this morning before taking our showers separately. He had phone calls to make. It did cross my mind that maybe one of the calls was of a personal and not professional nature but I don't know that I am allowed have those thoughts. Living in West Hollywood certainly agrees with him. I don't know if it's the sun or the neighborhood but my husband glows. He's thrived here. I can not help but still refer to Ray as my husband though we have not had another ceremony. It doesn't seem to bother him.  
  
When I returned from Arizona, from mourning Stan in the way I could not when he died, Ray handed me the ring box I left behind. My heart constricted for a moment. I thought that he was giving it back, that he was sending me on my way. Instead he extended his hand and I placed the ring on his finger where it belonged. The sun glints off the band as he turns the pages of the paper.  
  
I have learned in the last year that I can't live without him. Not really. Like Stan I think my self-destruction was always...is always... was always a near thing. Certainly I am able to breathe and to eat and to perform my work duties, but those things are not truly living. I existed in the year that we were separated. In that same time, Ray found places where he liked to eat regularly, like this one. He made friends. He had a regular basketball night. He...met someone. Someone who is fond of him. Someone who is in love with him.  
  
We, Ray and I, in the wake of the divorce and my talks with the Sister, have become men who admit our feelings. Who talk about things `straight up' as Ray says. We both agree that not talking about what happened to us individually, while he was in Las Vegas, has done damage to our relationship, to each other, damage to others that might never be repaired. I believe that Stan was a casualty of that as much as he was a casualty of Stella's selfishness. As men who now talk, Ray told me everything about Joseph Alta including the fact that he suspected Alta was in love with him. He assures me that those feelings are not reciprocated.  
  
I am certain that Joseph Alta is in love with him. It was there in his eyes for me to see that day at the restaurant. His affection for Ray, was badly hidden behind the protective fire in his eyes.  
  
"He tells me that you don't fuck people over just cause you're wrapped in a package that could get away with murder. But we both know he isn't exactly objective. If you're playing him, I will show you what it means to really fuck someone over."  
  
I can see why Ray would be attracted to someone like Joseph Alta. Not someone like, to Joseph Alta. Obviously the shared culture, family background. Alta speaks his mind, he's passionate. It takes passion to start your own business, especially a restaurant. Especially in this area, from what I have read recently, restaurant success can be a bit elusive in Southern California. I sought out several reviews in various local publications and they each give the food at the Trattoria high marks. The atmosphere is described as romantic, intimate without being cloying. Ray and I concluded our evening after dinner there in bed, the same as he and Joseph. The reviewer may be more correct than he knows. Ray is with me, and after what I've done I should be happy. I can not say that I am unhappy, perhaps a bit unsettled. He hasn't been to the Trattoria since I returned. I know that it's out of respect for me but I feel .....he glances up from the paper and smiles at me. That blinding, almost shy smile.  
  
"Perhaps Ray we should invite your friend Joseph to have dinner with us." His smile falters and then fades. Very methodically, he folds the sports section and places it beside his plate. His eyes have gone a deep, deep forest green. Oh dear, this is not quite the reaction I was expecting.  
  
"Why would we do that?"  
  
"Well, he is your friend and ..."  
  
"Let me get this straight. You want to break bread with Jer...Joseph Alta?  
  
"I...he's your friend Ray and I would be remiss if I did not acknowledge that truth."  
  
"Okay, okay. You understand right, that if...that if Stan were here, if Stan had survived I wouldn't be okay with sitting across the table from him having dinner."  
  
I am immediately sorry I brought this up in a public place. I didn't realize that it was perhaps something to be discussed in the privacy of Ray's apartment. In my periphery, I can see a gentleman lean toward us, nearly imperceptibly. It is certainly not my intention to become this morning's entertainment. Ray leans in and drops his voice several octaves. I can hear him well, I doubt our eavesdropping friend can.  
  
"What's this about Benny?"  
  
"It was not my intention to disrupt your life, your routine."  
  
"I was single before, but I'm not now." He waves his left hand at me. "You already marked me baby." And he adds even more quietly, "I'm not gonna hurt him like that." He opens the sports section and starts reading. The gentleman that found our conversation so interesting has rejoined his friends' conversation. I guess the matter is closed.  
  
There are some things that are harder than I thought they would be. Or are as hard as they should be. I still mourn Stan. Now that I've left most of the numbness of last year behind, that grief is sometimes overwhelming. The magnitude of the situation. Stan is gone and Ray was for a time. May be again.  
  
I've begun running in the mornings. Sometimes, that's when I allow myself to feel the sadness, the loss. The strangeness of this life as a divorced man who while apparently reconciled is still not married. The first time we were married, I thought of the ceremony as primarily for Ray. A fulfillment of a cultural need perhaps. I did not need that particular ritual. We were together, I understood his commitment to me, the depth of his love for me. The joy and excitement that suffused him during the preparation was beautiful to watch. Yes, some of it was tempered by the difficulty with Francesca, but overall in planning our wedding Ray was in his element. And I felt cared for in a way I never had before. I find now that even though we are wearing the rings, I long for the ceremony. I long to stand in front of our family and friends and make my pledge. I can see why he would not want to do that again. I understand that Ray wouldn't want to stand in front of his God with me again and hear me make a promise that I've broken so badly already. My understanding does not lessen my desire to be married to my husband, legally. The irony does not escape me. It is my fault. Not because of the adultery, that connection is obvious. I am the one that brought the dissolution of marriage papers into our home. I believe that on that awful night when Ray was so angry with me and I was so locked inside myself that I couldn't make any attempt to quell his anger, had he not been able to put his hands on the documents that I had already signed, we might still be married. I think that he might have simply gone to his mother's house to cool down, but eventually he would have come back.  
  
Despite the amount of time that's transpired, in some ways it feels as though a lot of this is just happening. The conversations Ray and I are having, are conversations we should have had the day, the week Stan died. Conversations we should have had the minute he returned from Nevada. I'm not very good at this, at being the bad guy. If this reconciliation fails, it might not be a bad thing for Ray's friend to make good on his threat.  
  
**************************  
  
It's Tuesday night. The fourth Tuesday night that Ray and I haven't had dinner together. I haven't spoken to him since his Pin-up ex came to town. The next morning he did call me. I didn't think that he would, figured that the male model would have chained him to the bed. That's what I woulda done. But no, instead this guy had done some kind of wham bam thank you sir. Ray said something about his ex having business to take care of in Arizona. Ray's voice broke over the word 'business' and I wanted to punch that stupid son of a bitch and shake some sense into Ray. I know he has blinders on when it comes to this guy but geez.  
  
It was weird. For someone that's as hung up on his ex as he seemed to be, Ray very rarely talked about his husband. Not even one of those sentences that started my ex and I use to....You'd think his marriage, even the name of his husband was some kind of state secret. Ray could play things very close to the vest. So I had to use my imagination.  
  
Looking the way he does, I'm sure the ex has to beat them off with a 2 x 4. He probably just decided one day hey what the hell and had a little taste. Maybe it had been happening all along and Ray just finally got the goods on him.  
  
Looking the way Ray does, his beauty, his style is not something everyone can appreciate. The first time that I saw him in the dry cleaners, he was giving them oh so detailed instructions about how to clean one of his suits. I was a few people behind him in a line of people dropping off their cleaning by 9 so they could get it by 5. And some of them were getting impatient. Some of them were rolling their eyes and I could see them thinking "fussy Queen." But I thought this man knows quality, appreciates quality. Those are things I appreciate. Quality is important to me in the service I provide at the restaurant, in the food that I serve. When he was done explaining to the dry cleaner and turned to leave there was this wall that came up right between him and the rest of us standing in line. He barely looked at any of us. But I looked at him and that was it for me. Yeah, the nose, that nose. Ray's nose is really like a complex work of art. I could stare at his nose for hours. I can make him blush just talking about how much I like his nose. Maybe some people get stopped by that nose without giving the whole package a look. But the nose is topped by eyes that are so much like emeralds and equally stunning and followed by a mouth that smiles, the most breathtaking smile when he's happy. He smiled a lot when we were together.  
  
I don't think of myself as a romantic. I coulda been probably, but I think that got squeezed out of me when I was kicked out of my house. A sixteen year old on the street can't really afford romance. And back then I still wasn't 100% sure of what I was. It didn't scare me that I had a thing for guys. It scared me that I was alone.  
  
I didn't see it coming. I don't even think I knew what hit me until I'd been on my own for months. One of my younger sisters busted me. I had a friend. Neither of us really knew what we were, but because we were friends it seemed normal. And we hadn't done anything, hadn't touched each other.  
  
I didn't think anyone was home that day. My sisters were supposed to be at dance class or something. My brothers were at football practice I think. Sebastian, we were on the baseball team together, everyone called him Bats. I called Bats to ask about our math homework. He was always better at geometry than I was. And we started talking about other things. And we were so into it that neither of us heard the extension click.  
  
At dinner that night the whole family was around the table and my thirteen year old sister opened her mouth. Mimicking one of the things I'd said to Bats on the phone that afternoon. *Sometimes when we're alone, I just want to kiss you.* Then she made these kissing sounds. I was trying not to freak. My mother asked her what she was talking about, then told her not to make fun of me. It was perfectly alright for me to want to kiss a girl. Then my father asked me who the girl was. And I tried to catch my sister's eye but she was too busy giggling and she blurted out that it wasn't a girl on the phone. I guess I could have made up a lie, said that I was rehearsing for some school play or that I was practicing what I was going to say to a girl with one of my buddies. But I was so stunned that I didn't say anything. My father made us both get up from the table. Made us both go to our rooms. My father went to my sister's room first and I guess had her tell him everything she heard. Bats' answer to me had been "Then why don't you?" Other things were said but in a house where anything that seemed slightly unmasculine was deemed faggish or queer, my wanting to kiss another boy was enough. When my father came to my room, he gave me five minutes to get my stuff together. Five minutes. I just took my wallet.  
  
Ray wasn't smiling the night he and the ex were at my restaurant. I was stunned at how good looking the ex was. Not because I didn't think that Ray could get someone like that, I just... I don't know. I think I always imagined the ex was more like Ray, looked more like Ray. But this guy, goddamn.  
  
"I'm afraid to be alone with him." Wow, I'd never figured that. I mean I know it happens. When I was a waiter, I worked with a guy once whose boyfriend used him as a regular punching bag. I let him stay with me when he was trying to give his boyfriend space to cool out. I tried to talk to him but you can't make people hear what they aren't ready to hear. I guess Ray read what I was thinking.  
  
"Oh, no, no man it's nothing like that. Not exactly. Yeah when I left, I wanted to clean his clock, but I never laid a finger on him while we were married. He never laid a hand on me either. I just...It's gonna be intense you know and I need some neutral ground, a public place maybe." I offered the restaurant. Sure not exactly neutral, but I think Ray mighta needed someone to get his back in case it went sour. And of course I had my own reasons.  
  
They'd already been at the table for about an hour when I popped my head into the dining room to get a look. Ray had his arm around the Pin-up's shoulders and appeared to be whispering in his ear.  
  
The Pin-up nodded a couple of times and looked like he'd been crying. Oh yeah, he was giving the one two punch, gorgeous and distraught. The ex certainly knew how to play the game. I knew then that Ray was going back. Even before he came to the office to tell me. But I think that if I play it right, I can get Ray back. He put thousands of miles between himself and the man he married. There have to be reasons for that, good reasons. History or not, one sobbing apology can't possibly overcome that much pain.  
  
At first I think I'm seeing things, but no, Ray is walking through the front door. He smiles at me and butterflies start doing the happy dance in my stomach.  
  
"Hey Jersey."  
  
"Hey stranger." I'm gonna play this cool. He looks so sharp. We always dress for dinner and Ray is wearing an olive drab colored suit with a crisp white shirt and a tie that picks up both the green of his eyes and the suits darker hue. He greets me as always with a kiss on each cheek. And then suddenly his hand is at the nape of my neck, his fingers tangled in my hair.  
  
"You cut your hair."  
  
"Yeah." His fingers caress my hairline.  
  
"It looks good on you." Ray pulls his fingers out of my hair and strokes my cheek. "I'm sorry," he says before pulling his hand completely away. He sweeps his left hand down his tie. I startle a couple steps backwards.  
  
"Jersey, you okay." He reaches for me and I flinch. "Jeez, you could warn a guy Ray." His hand hovers in the distance between us. Confusion skirts across his face. Then he looks at his hand and his face turns red."  
  
"I...it's not what." He snatches his hand back. I try to recover, get back to playing it cool. "So the Pin-up finally decided to make an honest man out of you?" I want him to smile, to laugh but he doesn't. He just reaches for me again with the hand that doesn't have his wedding band on it. I meet him half way and let him pull me into an easy hug. "We need to talk," he whispers close to my ear.  
  
For the last four Tuesday nights I've kept our table reserved. When I lead us to the table and take away the reserved sign, Ray just looks at me for a long moment before he finally sits down.  
  
"So, I'm that predictable." He grins at me. "No I am," I say as I motion one of my waiters to come to the table. "Does he know where you are?"  
  
"Yeah, this was sort of his idea."  
  
"Oh yeah?"  
  
"Well a compromise. He wanted to invite you to dinner."  
  
"When?" I'm thinking bring him on. I'd like him to see how Ray and I are together.  
  
"What is the matter with the both of you? There isn't going to be any dinner except this. This is the dinner."  
  
Ray's telling me a story that I don't understand. I mean I get the basics. Apparently the Pin-up's got a crazy ass ex who robs banks and frames cops for murder. Yeah I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact Ray's a cop. Shit, his ex is a cop.  
  
The only cop I really knew was my Uncle Richie. And he was one of those old school head- busting NYPD cops. When you heard that some cop had caused trouble, we always held our breath waiting to see if Uncle Richie's name was gonna be mentioned. But I have to put that aside because of this thing Ray is telling me. Yeah, I understand the story, but I guess I don't understand what it means, why he's telling it to me like this. He should be telling it to me like this story is about the first time his asshole ex , and there are no two ways about it, this man, this gorgeous asshole, hurt him. But no, Ray's tone is all wrong. His words are burying the asshole, but Ray looks like the one covered in shit. If his sorry ex had done to me what he did to Ray at the train station, he'd be six feet in the ground.  
  
And Ray looks at me with fear. I can see that he's waiting for me to acknowledge that I understand. But I don't, I can't. At least not the way he wants me to. I'm pissed.  
  
I'd been holding his hand since somewhere in the middle of the story and he's only just now realizing. He starts to pull it away, but I apply enough pressure so that he knows I don't want him to do that.  
  
"Gimme a minute Ray."  
  
"Okay." His answer is so quiet like he's waiting for me to come down on him. And I wish I didn't need the minute to get it together. If I didn't. I could tell him right now that I don't think he was wrong to shoot. The only thing wrong about what he did was the intent. He shot with the wrong intent.  
  
But I think the next thing that comes out of my mouth is really important. He told me that story for a reason. I think he wanted to scare me. Maybe back me off more. I am scared but it doesn't stop me. I stroke my thumb across the back of his hand. "I want to tell you something too."  
  
"Okay."  
  
I have his complete attention. Such beautiful eyes. "I've been seeing someone for about six months now."  
  
There is a quick flash of what looks like anger in his eyes. That gives me the stones to continue. "This guy, he's coming off a bad break up so I think it's easier for him to think we're just hanging out. You know, just friends, but it's more than that to me. To him, if he's honest."  
  
Ray opens his mouth to say something, but I hold my hand up to stop him. "I didn't interrupt your story Ray." He closes his mouth, but his eyes are wide.  
  
"Yeah, this guy thinks that I'm dating half the town, but the funny thing is ... I hang out with a few guys and I let him think that I'm dating 'em but it's mostly just hanging out. Shooting the shit, some of them I know from when I was coming up in the restaurant biz so it's a lot of shop talk. But it's nothing serious. It's nothing horizontal. I haven't slept with anyone since the night he and I were together. I haven't wanted to be with anyone else."  
  
I continue to watch Ray's eyes. Watch all of what I've said find it's home. "Christ, Jersey," he says quietly and squeezes my hand. I have one more thing to say. I hope it will seal a deal between us.  
  
I really love Ray and I am not just going to give him to the asshole. When people get caught doing something they know they shouldn't, they say one thing just led to another. As though they aren't to blame. The truth I think is more like they made a series of choices that led to a consequence that makes them other than who they thought they were. Sometimes it makes them the bad guy. Ray told me a story and I've made a choice.  
  
"I know I can't touch the cop thing. You rely on each other to stay alive, save each others' lives. I can't imagine what it's like to have to rely on another person like that everyday. I can't imagine what that must be like when that person is also your husband. I...I'm not gonna ask you to leave him ...I...you..."  
  
"It's okay Jersey."  
  
"I...if you want me Ray, you can have me too. When you need to, when you want to, you can come to me. Anytime."  
  
His hand suddenly jerks out of mine and Ray is up and moving away from the table toward the back of the restaurant, through the kitchen to my office. I'm right behind him and get my hand out to stop the door just as it almost slams in my face.  
  
Ray's back is to me. His hands are braced against the wall. I shut the door quietly and wait. He whirls on me. "What the fuck Joseph? I don't say anything. I just hope that the kitchen noise will drown out the shouting. "You don't want," Ray starts, "You don't want to be anyone's bitch. Why would you do that Joseph, why would you say that?"  
  
I close the distance between us so that I am close enough for him to touch me if he wants to. "You're right, I don't want to be anyone's bitch." And Ray understands what I don't say. I think he already understood but didn't want to, wasn't ready to. He pulls me into his arms and holds me for a long time. He says "Oh God, Jersey, I really fell off the roof," quietly a couple of times and then doesn't say anything for a while. His hands move through my hair gently as I hold on to him tightly. His lean body trembles against mine. "Let me Ray," I whisper against his ear. "Let me take care of you. I promise if you let me I'll take really good care of you. Let me carry the weight."  
  
**********************************  
  
"I think I fucked up Benny." I had heard my husband come into the apartment and waited for him to come to bed. When he didn't, I came here to the dining room. He's sitting at the table in the dark. I've grown accustomed to the fact that he drinks. Usually only wine with dinner. But still it was a little bit of an adjustment. A Cabernet is the only alcohol that Ray keeps in the apartment, but there is a bottle of Absolut Vodka on the table. He must have picked it up on the way home. He can't have had time to pour more than the single glass in front of him now. My fingers itch to take the bottle away, except I'm not sure what I would do with it. I think that I might simply pour my own glass. Without bothering to turn on the light, I sit opposite him. When my eyes fully adjust, I see the glisten of tears on his cheeks.  
  
"Jersey's in love with me." There is a kind of wonder in his voice. He doesn't bother to use the distancing first name of Joe or Joseph. I suspect that whatever happened between them tonight makes it impossible for him to do so. "I know." He laughs but there's no mirth to it. He takes a sip from his glass. "No, I mean really down deep in love with me. He'd let me...I don't even know what you call it when it's guys. He'd let me ruin his life, make him less a man. Make him my bitch."  
  
He takes a gulp from his glass and manages to get it down without choking. I'm not sure exactly what Ray meant by the last part. I could hazard a guess but as my nieces say, 'I do not wish to go there.' It does flicker in my mind that Joseph Alta loves the way Ray Vecchio does.  
  
Marriage is important, the vow sacred to my husband. I believe that despite the legal dissolution of our marriage, he still felt married to me. I believe that is what makes it so hard for him to fully acknowledge his feelings for his friend. He does not want to cheat on me, the way I cheated on him. Maybe I counted on his feelings about marriage to ease my way when I sought him out. Again, I have been selfish and caused additional pain to a man I love more than my own life.  
  
"I release you Ray."  
  
"What Benny?"  
  
"I release you. From your promise to me, from our marriage vow."  
  
"Benny...."  
  
I pull my wedding band off my finger for only the second time since we were married. The ring makes a small sound when I place it on the table. I swallow and clench my hands into fists so that I do not reach for the bottle, so that I do not reach for my husband, my former husband.  
  
"We are divorced Ray. I am your ex-husband. We...you..."  
  
I do not want to be the bad guy, so I shall hold fast to being some semblance of the opposite. "I believe there is a flight to Chicago in the afternoon. I should have no trouble gaining a seat."  
  
My husband, my former husband, my ex-husband extends his hand to the center of the table. I extend mine until the tips of my fingers touch his.  
  
"I still love you Benny. When I...when I left, it wasn't because I wanted to find someone else. This is not what I, I didn't know this would happen."  
  
"Understood. Joseph is lucky to have you Ray."  
  
"He...he really loves me Benny."  
  
And apparently the converse is true although Ray is still unable to admit it outright. "As would anyone that has had the privilege to know you Ray." The words are like glass in my mouth. I don't think I'll ever stop bleeding.  
  
******  
  
One year later  
  
Francesca Vecchio is getting married. And we, each of us in the family have our tasks. I am as surprised as anyone that I am still in Chicago, that I am still called family. I considered the year after Ray and I were divorced as perhaps charity. And a display of the remnant of hope that my husband and I would reconcile. When I returned from California, Ray's mother was the first person I saw. We had a quiet meal in the middle of the day. I explained what happened in West Hollywood. Before I could tell her that I would resign the Task Force and sell our house, she interrupted me.  
  
"Benton, you were my son before you married my son. You were my son when my son was gone. One Raymond is so far away, another is lost to us entirely." She crossed herself. "Must I lose one more son?"  
  
I had never considered what it must have felt like in the last two years to lose the three of us. I put aside all thoughts of leaving the Vecchio fold.  
  
It's been slightly more than a year since that afternoon in my former mother-in -law's kitchen. I have already begun to lay the framework for a transition that is now inevitable.  
  
Ray and Joseph have a child. A twelve year old boy. As I've put together from conversations that are always hastily ended when I enter a room. Joseph has a godson whose parents were recently killed in a car accident.  
  
Ray told his mother that they'd talked about Ray adopting him and I translate that to mean Ray and Joseph are getting married. Ray would want the parents of his child to be properly married. I am at once happy for him and saddened that this is perhaps another area where, in the years we were married, I hurt him unintentionally. We never talked about a family of our own. Each child that called me Uncle when were married and still calls me Uncle today, I love intensely. I feel immeasurable pride when I see Tony, Jr. excelling at the things I've taught him. But the truth of these relationships is that they overwhelm me. I love the children, but I could not be with them all the time. I could not parent, I am fit only for avuncular role.  
  
As the nature of my relationship with Ray became more transparent. Angela Vecchio's visits and participation in family events lessened. By the day of our wedding, the ceremony was the first time we'd seen her in nearly a year. There was no animosity or hostility, simply a changing of the guard. Joseph Alta deserves a chance to be loved by this family the way that I was, the way that I am, without having to do so in my shadow. I have already made arrangements with a realtor to begin showing the house. I have two tasks for Francesca's wedding.  
  
During the wedding, I will play the guitar as Ray escorts her down the aisle. My pre-wedding task is to fetch Ray and his family from the airport. More than a few of the Chicago Vecchios have tried to take this particular job off of my hands, but I feel this way is best. It is better for the three of us to know immediately if this will work. If we can survive the close proximity of the car ride from the airport, then we should be able to get through the wedding festivities where there will be many opportunities to put others between us.  
  
They are standing next to the baggage claim carousel. Ray's back is to me. His hand rests lightly on the shoulders of a brown skinned boy, their son. Joseph is facing me, but his head is low as he listens to something Ray is saying. They are so deep into each other's personal space that there is no mistaking who they are to each other. I feel a tightening in my chest that I was expecting. I knew that this would not be easy. As I school my features into a pleasant nonchalance, Joseph looks up at Ray and then his eyes catch mine. I recognize his look immediately. It is cousin to the way he looked the night he threatened me. I see his love for Ray and the protectiveness. What is missing this time is the hostility. Ray catches Joseph's gaze and turns around. I have only a split second to make certain that my eyes reflect nothing more than happiness at seeing an old, dear friend.  
  
A huge grin breaks out on his face that lights his eyes. Those eyes. Ray is genuinely happy and his smile is contagious. I can feel myself breaking into an answering grin, though it's the last thing I want to do.  
  
He takes one long stride to close the distance between us as he extends his hand. "Hey, Benny it's good to see you."  
  
"You too Ray." He reaches behind him. "Come on guys." The boy comes up smiling shyly with Joseph behind him.  
  
"Oscar this is my friend Benton Fraser, Benton this is Oscar."  
  
Oscar extends his hand. "It's nice to meet you Mr. Fraser."  
  
I shake his hand then he takes a step back behind Ray. Ray turns toward his partner and the quality of his smile changes. It's for this man alone. A smile, that I never saw in five years of our marriage or in the time before our marriage. A brand new smile. It strikes me that I may not be able to do this. I should have allowed one of Ray's cousins to perform this task.  
  
Perhaps for Ray's sake Joseph Alta and I elect to behave as though this is our first meeting. Or maybe it is that Joseph is as able to be a graceful winner as I am a graceful loser. I extend my hand to him. "Benton Fraser." He grasps my hand firmly. "Joseph Alta, come on Oscar let's get the other bag." And Ray and I are left alone.  
  
"What, did you get the short straw, nobody else wanted to do the airport run?"  
  
"On the contrary, quite a few members of the family volunteered to do this in my place."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
*********************************  
  
I wait with Oscar for our other bag to come off the carousel. Ray looks okay. His body language is fine. I'm half listening to Oscar while I watch Ray over the top of our son's head. He's smiling at the Mountie and the Mountie is smiling back at him. From any distance, if you didn't know them, you would think it was just two friends shooting the shit. Yeah, the Mountie. That's what Ray calls him when he talks about him now. But, he hardly talks about him at all.  
  
If I hadn't already known that his name was Benton Fraser, today I would have found that out for the first time. As it is, this is the first time I think that Ray has actually said his ex's entire name out loud in my presence.  
  
The night that I offered to be Ray's piece on the side, after he left the restaurant, I still wasn't sure if I would see him again. After closing for the night, I distracted myself with doing my online supply orders then I popped Ray's name and Chicago into a search engine. I didn't know what to expect or even really what I wanted. I guess I just wanted to know more about the things Ray couldn't seem to tell me. I wanted to know more about the asshole. I only really had the assholes first name but I had the fact that Ray was a cop, the ex was a cop.  
  
Holy God. The hits on Vecchio and the Chicago PD kept coming. The first link to an article in the ChicagoTribune gave me more than enough to work with. I was online for at least four hours, maybe longer. Reading everything on both of them from the Chicago news links. And then on the ex, Benton Fraser, in the Canadian paper archive links. The man was like some kind of RCMP superhero. Tragic superhero, both parents murdered. Shit. A Canadian Batman. But the more I read the more I was convinced that I had done the right thing.  
  
Benton Fraser wasn't capable of taking care of Ray. In all those years, in all those stories, he continually put Ray's life on the line when he didn't have to. Ray, who was the sole support of his mother and sisters back then, whose death would have left them to fend for themselves. What the hell could Benton Fraser have been thinking? I felt better after the reading. I had always believed it, but then I knew it as a fact. I could offer Ray something his ex never could. Stability. Security. He needed me. Needs me.  
  
I'm not worried about him seeing the Mountie on this trip. I trust Ray and strangely I think I trust the Mountie. He seems to be a man of some weird kind of honor. Ray is no longer his and I believe he'll respect those boundaries. I am a little concerned about Ray's family. I know friends who have been in similar situations. You split up, your family still loves your ex. I guess I'm worried that once they meet me they'll try to convince Ray to come back to Chicago. To go back to the Mountie. I'm a good person, I know that. I've just never had to meet anyone's parents before. Obviously, I know from experience that families don't always know the best thing to do, that they don't always do the right thing. I'll take them on if I have to, but I hope it doesn't come to that.  
  
****************************************************  
  
It took us, Raymond Vecchio and I some time to finally get together as a couple. It's only fitting that complete dissolution of our marriage would take three years.  
  
I try to watch Ray as though we are strangers. As though I don't know what it's like to have those long muscular legs wrapped around me. As though I have never seen the flex of muscle and tendon in his arms as my arms are held over my head and his anchoring weight presses me into a sleeping bag for two. As though there was never a first time when he whispered to me, in the moonlit night, You know me and the outdoors ain't exactly kissing cousins baby, but I've fantasized about taking you like this... under the stars, in the open. About loving you for the rest of my life."  
  
Given that Francesca has just been married and that Ray is about to be married again, I suppose it is fitting that I would dream about my honeymoon. The dream made somewhat flesh again with the appearance of Ray.  
  
As I watch him shamble toward me, in a suit I don't recognize, I feel a sense of finality that I didn't feel when I received our divorce decree in the mail. It tore me apart to leave him in Los Angeles a year and some months ago but even then it didn't feel like a file marked 100% done. Perhaps because I was still embraced as a member of this family. But now as Raymond Vecchio comes toward me, I no longer see any traces of me on him.  
  
The suit is a superficial indicator. He moves differently, smiles differently. There were nuanced differences in his speech pattern as he gave the wedding toast.  
  
"I tried to call but the voice mail kept picking up." Ray says to me as he steps onto the porch. Ah yes, I have been out here on the porch swing for about forty-five minutes. My ex-husband leans against the porch rail opposite me. His arms fold across his chest and he crosses his legs at the ankles revealing socks that so perfectly match the suit and are so Ray for just a moment I think about asking him to leave.  
  
"Sorry for just dropping by."  
  
"That's fine Ray. I have been sitting here for a bit. I wouldn't have heard the phone."  
  
"I can't believe it Benny, Frannie...our Frannie is married." We both laugh.  
  
"Yes, it is quite remarkable. I believe that she's truly found the right man."  
  
"Yeah, well...we'll see about that." Ray runs his hand across his scalp and I brace myself. I know what's coming. I wish there were some way I could delay this inevitableness.  
  
"Benny....Jersey and I -"  
  
"Are getting married." I interrupt. Not polite, but it seems I do not actually wish or need him to say the words.  
  
"How do you know that Benny. I haven't told anyone."  
  
"You have a child."  
  
"Oh, oh yeah. He's a good kid, been through a lot. He needs a stable family."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
I plaster what I hope is a genuinely congratulatory smile on my face. The mask would be helpful were it not for the fact that Ray can see through it.  
  
"What about you Benny, you seeing anyone?" Oh, oh. I hadn't expected that. And therefore I have no time to blank my face. I know that I am too late to keep him from seeing some of it. I hope all he sees is the yes. Yes, I have met someone in a manner of speaking. Another RCMP officer, a Toronto task force liaison.  
  
As part of my task force responsibilities, I attend regular briefings on efforts to secure the Canadian/USborder as well as other anti-terrorism measures. The conclusion of my business in Toronto coincided with a reception that I was unable to bow out of gracefully.  
  
We both found ourselves on the balcony, in the middle of the evening, attempting to escape the maddening crowd. He was the first to break the silence with the quiet reflection, "My husband loved to dance."  
  
As it happened we had a lot in common. All the wrong things Sister Agnes insists. She is quite disappointed with me. My new friend and I are both loners, both fortunate enough to have had the loves of our lives for a brief time, both responsible for destroying that love. He and I both live on a daily diet of sorrow and regret. And although we have both reverted to our natural solitary states, we have been conditioned to regular affectionate touch, to comfort, to intercourse. We can both be as we were before, alone, but there is an undeniable ache. The ache to touch and be touched. These were the things we discussed the night we met. Our aching so acute we were unable to censor our tongues in the presence of a fellow traveler. He does not tell me that I will get over Ray. He understands that I will not. I do not tell him that he will get over the loss of his husband, who was killed in the line of duty, the morning after they'd had a fight and spent the night apart.  
  
Ray has seen more than a simple `yes' and he takes a step. I see his hand stretch toward me. "Don't touch me."  
  
I hadn't meant to say that so harshly. I hadn't meant to say it out loud. Thank God for the grace granted by having known someone for a number of years. Ray doesn't allow my outburst to ruin what are truly our last moments together. What are the final strokes of the dissolution of our marriage. His hand hovers for a second then disappears from the air. He knows that I'm fucked up. Ah, well, so that's what it takes to get that bon mot, if not actually out of my mouth, at least into my head. I suppose there is no harm in thinking it again. I, Benton Fraser, am fairly fucked up.  
  
The front door to the house opens and startles Ray.  
  
"What the -, " I slide between the two of them. "Ray, this is Ana Martinez. She's showing the house." Ray covers his shock like the professional he is and extends his hand to her. Ms. Martinez in turn introduces the couple she's been escorting through our house, my house. We five chat amiably for a few moments, then she walks the prospective buyers to their car and pantomimes that she will call me.  
  
As soon as he is certain they are out of earshot, Ray says quietly. "You're selling the house."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"There's no sign in the yard."  
  
"No."  
  
"The family doesn't know yet."  
  
"I did not wish to overshadow your sister."  
  
I'd like to make an offer." Another thing I wasn't expecting.  
  
"Ray, really. I don't think..."  
  
"I'd like Frannie's kids, Oscar to have the chance to play in the tree cabin. I'd like to keep the house in the family." I am utterly speechless.  
  
"When are you leaving?"  
  
"I had intended to go as soon as the house was sold. Ms. Martinez assured me that it would go quickly."  
  
"Back to the Territories?"  
  
"Initially yes."  
  
"When Ms. Martinez calls tell her you've found a buyer for the house. I'll take over paying for the upkeep, and the property taxes. Maybe we could give it to Frannie as a late wedding present. I don't mind telling you, I got a few concerns about the ability of this husband of hers to provide."  
  
"I should have thought of that Ray."  
  
"You're not the only brains in this family." An affectionate refrain from our marriage. I give what use to be the standard rejoinder quietly and for the last time. "Nor am I the only beauty." I am probably mere moments away from prostrating myself in front of him and begging him to take me back, but that is not something the good guy would do.  
  
Instead we enjoy a few moments of companionable silence. "Benny, this thing, your thing with your friend..." I lift my head and look Ray in the eye.  
  
"Yes, Ray."  
  
"...it's not like Victoria or Kowalski is it?" I take comfort in that I am able to give Ray honest reassurance.  
  
"No it's not like Victoria or Stan." This time the need is mutual as is the fulfillment. I can not ruin his life because it's already ruined. And he can't harm me because I have already inflicted the maximum harm possible.  
  
"Okay, okay I'm glad. I should be getting back. Dinner and all."  
  
"Understood." Sunday dinners. Dinners I would attend no longer.  
  
"If you need -"  
  
"I won't. Thank you Ray. I'll post the deed to the house as quickly as possible."  
  
"Goodbye Benny." He hesitates before offering his hand. Not a touch really.  
  
"Goodbye Ray." I clasp his hand quickly and let go.  
  
**********************  
  
I'm freaking out. Who wouldn't be. It's been a long time since I've been a part of this kind of family weekend. Yeah over the years I've been a guest at a lot of weddings and commitment ceremonies but none of those were so close to the ones I went to as a kid. I know that at least one of my sisters is married now and I wonder if her wedding was anything like Frannie Vecchios. So yeah, now that everyone is asleep I can let it out a little bit. This weekend I've met a couple hundred people who were in some way related to Ray and for the most part they all seemed happy to meet me. At the reception, it was easy for me not to cross paths with Benton Fraser. A few times I caught him out of my periphery entertaining the younger children. Once I saw him talking to Oscar, just the two of them. It struck me how much the Mountie and my son had in common. I actually said a little prayer that Ray and I wouldn't fail Oscar the way I think the Mountie's guardians failed him. Seeing him with the children, with Oscar I understand that Benton Fraser is a good man, but there's something missing in him. Something that prevented him from loving Ray the right way. I asked Oscar later what he and the Mountie talked about. "He doesn't have a mom or dad either Joe." Hell, now I'm thankful to the Mountie for two things, obviously that he let Ray go and that he reached out to Oscar.  
  
We danced to all of the slow songs. I was a little self-conscious. Once I discovered West Hollywood at seventeen, I sort of never looked back. I know that I'm part of a minority population, but in Los Angeles I make my life where I am in the majority. At the reception I think we were the only gay guys there, or at least the only couple. At least that's how it felt. For the first few dances I kept expecting some guy that looked like my father to ask us to leave. But that never happened. And so I'm trying to get used to the fact that I have an extended family again. I'm marrying into a family that won't turn away from me, that won't take everything away from me. Ray's mother told me that I could call her Ma. And that left me speechless and then I started to cry. I was grateful that Ray and Oscar weren't at the house. Ray was at the Mountie's and Oscar was playing with his new cousins. I was overwhelmed with the acceptance Mrs. Vecchio's gesture implied but.... I know it's stupid but I already have a Ma. I still hope someday to see my family again, to come to some sort of truce I guess. I didn't mean any disrespect to Mrs. Vecchio but that was something I couldn't do. I tried to explain it to her as I tried to stop crying. She held me the way moms do, told me it was okay, that she understood, that I was a good son. It's been at least sixteen years since anyone thought I was a good son. In some weird way that made me more determined to see my family again. Ray has asked me about it, said he'd go with me. Maybe it's time.  
  
I look up from my untouched coffee and Ray is standing in the kitchen doorway smiling at me.  
  
"Can't sleep?"  
  
"I'm a little wired."  
  
"Why didn't you wake me up?"  
  
"Um, because we agreed that we wouldn't have sex in your mother's house. And because I wanted some time to get my head together."  
  
He moves further into the kitchen and sits down beside me. He picks up my cup and takes a sip.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
"Yeah, I just...." I reach for his hand and he gives it to me easily. "  
  
"Are you having second thoughts?"  
  
"About what, about marrying you? Hell no Ray."  
  
I asked Ray to marry me about a month after the Mountie left California. I suggested that we just get in the car and elope in Vegas. I can't even describe the look on his face at that idea. He didn't go into detail, just said, "I did a job in Vegas. I can't go back there."  
  
We've had other moments like that. I follow Ray's lead about the cop stuff. When he wants to talk about it I listen. When he doesn't I don't push. It was obvious he didn't want to talk about Las Vegas so I didn't push. He also didn't say yes to my proposal then either.  
  
Oscar's parents were killed four months ago. I met his parents at the first restaurant where I was a busboy. His father, Roberto, worked in the kitchen and his mother, Marta, was a waitress. They taught me a great deal about working in a restaurant. I owe them a lot. They looked out for me and when the time came I agreed to be their newborn son's godfather. They wanted to make sure he would always have a strong tie in this country. All of their other family lived in the Dominican. I never thought anything would happen to Roberto or Marta. Even now I can't believe that they're dead. It hurts but I have a family now, boy do I have family, and that makes it easier. Ray accepted my proposal the night I brought Oscar home.  
  
Ray has moved closer to me and his fingers are gently stroking my forearm. You gonna come back to bed?"  
  
"I don't think I can sleep yet. Why don't you go back to bed. I'll be up in a little bit." "Okay, my love." Ray leans toward me, his hand slips behind my head, he kisses me on the forehead. "Don't stay down here to long. You know I don't like to sleep by myself."  
  
"I know. I'll be up in a bit, I promise."  
  
"Okay, I'll check on Oscar."  
  
"Okay."  
  
He kisses me again on the mouth. "I love you."  
  
"I love you."  
  
Bats was the first guy I said those words to. After I was kicked out of the house, I went to him. He sneaked me into his room and let me hide out there for two days. His mom worked a lot so it was easy to sneak into his room. We were too nervous for me to stay any longer than a couple of days. I didn't want to get him into any trouble. I didn't want what happened to me to happen to him. The last night, we talked until just before sun up. We talked about all the things we thought would be cool to do together. We both knew there was no chance of them happening. As I was getting ready to go Bats handed me a backpack with extra clothes, food, his allowance. We tried to put a lifetime of kisses into our goodbye kiss. It was sweet and good the way a first kiss should be. Instead of scaring me, it made me sure. I whispered those three words to Bats and then I climbed out of his window.  
  
There are people who will pay for a boy to do certain things. I only did them once and the money I made, along with what Bats gave me and what I had in my wallet was enough for a greyhound ticket to Southern California. I was lucky when I got there I met a guy who already had friends in the city. About ten guys sharing one apartment, but they're the ones who got me hooked up as a busboy. They're the ones who as I watched them diligently attend the Adult School to learn English inspired to me to get my GED. They helped me improve the Spanish I had only started taking before I left school, a skill that has been invaluable in my business. Miguel was in that group of guys. He was twenty-one. I don't know how he knew about me but one night he sort of just shoved his tongue in my mouth. You don't do that unless you're pretty sure you're not gonna get punched.  
  
We were careful around the other guys but in the clubs and bars of West Hollywood, Miguel took me to we were free. I could never go back to hiding. We were together for three years. He left me because he wanted to find a girl to marry so his family line would continue. He was the only boy. And as fucked up as it was I understood that. He was the second person I said those words to.  
  
I look around the Vecchio kitchen and it makes me shiver to know that Ray is the last. I know it with certainty. I won't have to leave Ray to keep him from getting into trouble and he won't leave me because he wants to have kids. I have this sudden overwhelming urge to go to Mass. Except for weddings along the way and commitment ceremonies, I haven'treally been to church since I was sixteen. My family use to attend Mass regularly. I feel like I should thank Someone for my life, for the good things in it.  
  
Ray sleepily appears in the doorway again. "Come to bed." I go to him, wrap my arms tightly around him. "Thank you," I murmur in his ear.  
  
"For what?"  
  
"For coming to get me."  
  
"You're a nut, come on before the bed gets cold."  
  
I flip off the kitchen light and let him lead me upstairs.  
  
End  



End file.
